Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Todoroki-san! Please excuse me. I’m coming in!”

“Mm.” His eyelids flutter. He curls away from the noise. The blanket cups his cheek, cradling him into downy softness. A sigh leaves him. It can’t already be sunset. He is so comfortable right now. Two more minutes. His arms squeeze the pillow. Or five. Another hour sounds good. Hugging the pillow closer, he snuggles deeper into the blanket.

The shoji slides open. Footsteps pad over the tatami mats. The blanket lifts abruptly from his feet. 

Shouto makes a sound of protest. He pats the mattress blindly to take it back. “Five more minutes, Tooru,” he croaks out. She yanks the blanket entirely away from him. He rolls himself into the mussed bed sheets and curls up tighter. “No. Five more?”

“Wakey, wakey!” Tooru chirps. She snatches the pillow from under him without any mercy. “We’ll be super duper busy tonight! So up you go!”

He sighs. Rubbing his eyes, he reluctantly sits up. The sheets slip and puddle around his hips. 

Tooru’s floating cherry blossom kimono bobs in the air. She giggles.

Confused, he lifts his head. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she giggles. Shouto thinks if she chose to show her face right now, then she would be beaming from ear to ear. As it is, the levitating hair pins tremble, glittering in the light. “Oh!” Her kimono sleeve flutters up. “I almost forgot! You have a gift. Let me go get it.”

“A gift?” He tilts his head. “From who —”

Her kimono phases through the walls and disappears. 

Shouto blinks. His shikigami only ever bothers with using the door or walking when she does not want to catch him off guard with her arrival. He tilts his head and nods to himself. Well, phasing through the walls and floors must be much more convenient for youkai than opening doors. 

He stifles another yawn and shuffles to his feet. The sheets slip to the floor. His gaze drops down. Fading bruises curl over his bare hips. 

Oh.

He hesitates for a moment and then slides his fingers over them. He squeezes. The familiar ache does not bloom hot underneath his fingertips. They . . . they do not hurt anymore.

He wets his lips. Heartbeat thrumming, he skims up the dip of his navel and smooths his palm over soft, sleep-warmed skin. 

Warmth tingles, following the path of his roaming fingertips. Love bites scatter across his chest and throat like soft petals, kissing him with their fading pinks. 

These do not ache anymore either. In another day or two, they will heal completely. 

His fingers skitter over his thumping heart. Pulse heavy in his fingertips, he cups the slight swell of his pec and squeezes gently. His nipple peaks, flushing pink but nowhere as swollen red as nights before. Holding his breath, he drags his thumb across the pebbling, sensitive bud, the edge of his nail scraping just so. 

A bladed tingle runs through him. Arousal wells up with the memory of sharp teeth biting into where he is always soft and vulnerable.

The bitemarks here are already gone. He swallows hard. He wishes they would stay for a little longer. He wishes they still hurt . 

His reflection flashes across the mirror to his right. He turns his head and sees himself: soft from sleep, flushed and needy, pressing fingertips into fading marks and still searching for the lingering pleasure of being desired, of being favored on his body. 

His breath hitches. A hot jolt of pleasure sparks in his belly.  

Is this what Katsuki sees when Shouto writhes underneath him, moaning and begging for more — always for more? When Katsuki takes all that he gives until there is nothing left but himself? 

Even that slips through his fingers, piece by piece with every night they share because maybe he is used to losing himself, but he does not want to be. Maybe he wants to be found, to be known and kept. And with Katsuki, it feels — 

“Just like that,” Katsuki growls. His grip hardens on Shouto’s trembling hips. Candlelight glints off the sharp edge of his knuckles. His divinity pulses hot and hungry inside, echoing the heated stroke of his cock across Shouto’s clenching walls. 

Broken moans hiccup from Shouto. His quivering belly draws tighter and tighter. His cock bounces with every thrust, throbbing hard and dribbling pre-come. He rocks back helplessly. “Ka-Katsuki. Ah, ah, ah.”

Shouto feels him everywhere . Power blazes endlessly from Katsuki like a fire barely banked by the flesh and bone of Katsuki’s body, held at bay only by Katsuki’s sheer will. 

Katsuki is  — is holding himself back. He can tell. Why? He can take more — wants to take so much more.

As if Katsuki can tell — or maybe he hears Shouto’s desperate plea like all gods do — his fierce gaze cuts straight to Shouto. 

Shouto’s heart pounds. He can’t speak, can’t breathe. He is held suddenly at sword’s point, but it is not fear or blood that Katsuki draws from him.

No. The God of Victory somehow looks at him like he is the only fight worth winning, Shouto thinks, dazed and hopelessly enraptured. Katsuki presses deeper inside, and the emptiness gnawing at Shouto for as long as he can remember fills so, so, so easily.

“Ka-Katsuki, please,” he sobs, begging now because he breaks even as Katsuki makes him whole. His fingers scrabble against the sheets, back arching off the bed. Pleasure sears through him, rending him apart with its merciless edge.

“Say my name again.” Teeth scrape over his aching, swollen nipple. Pain throbs sharply. Everything in him aches under the bite of  Katsuki’s hunger. “You pray to me so sweetly, pretty boy.”

Shouto throws his head back with a whine. He would, he would, he would. He would kneel for Katsuki, would worship him like Katsuki deserves despite not being one of his followers. Even laid bare in this bedroom for a shrine, Katsuki takes from him only offerings, never sacrifices.

He thrashes as Katsuki grinds mercilessly into that spot. 

Full. So full. 

The sensation swells in between the cracks of his ribcage, and his heart squeezes so hard that his chest hurts. He thinks of how dry riverbeds and shrinking oceans can only be brimmed back to fullness by the heavens and wonders if the loneliness in him is a little like that, if that is why he can only fit the shape of a god — this god. Everything else is just not enough. 

“But,” he pants because he is too scarred to leave himself so easily in someone else’s hands, “what do I — hah — get in — in return for my devotion?”

He follows no god because no god has ever answered his prayers. Katsuki though — 

He swallows hard around the growing lump in his throat. His chest tightens around the fullness of an aching want. Katsuki makes him want to offer a faith he thought he lost long ago.

“You get mine ,” says Katsuki, eyes flashing, like he means it, like he wants Shouto just as much as Shouto wants him. He  — 

Shouto shuffles the memories away. Face heating up, he wills his erection to go down. He — he probably should not take those words to heart. Katsuki said them in the heat of the moment. Bedroom talk. Katsuki is a god. Time to him must pass the same way water flows in a stream: quiet, constant, and infinitesimal. Shouto is just the latest in his line of lovers.

A sharp pang runs through Shouto’s heart. He bites his lips. Clutching the sheets, he wraps them around himself and moves towards his dressing table. The snow leopard on the silk screen pads through the painted wintry scenery and follows alongside him.

He kneels down on the cushion. Grey and black brushstrokes stream, thickening into soft fur as the snow leopard leans out from the screen to nose his side.

“Hello, Soba.” He gently scratches under her chin. A purr rumbles through Soba. Without warning, Soba plops her head into his lap. A laugh startles from him. Smiling, he obeys the unspoken command and pets her. A speck glitters from between her whiskers. Curious, he plucks it out. 

Ah. A fish scale, which means —

“You’ve been stealing from the kitchens again.”

Soba does not meet his blunt gaze. Instead, she bites down on her tail and buries her head further into his lap.

“Soba, that’s very bad of you,” he chides. “You know that our guests are picky. Rikidou gets very stressed when he doesn’t have the ingredients he needs to feed them.”

Soba’s ears fold back before they flick back up. Tensing, Soba lifts her head up and crouches. Her narrowed gaze tracks the walls. 

Shouto pauses. “Intruders?”

Soba growls, fur bristling.

He frowns. He splays his palm flat on the tatami mat. Closing his eyes, he concentrates. 

The hotel, as always, answers to his will. Energy ripples through him, an ocean spilling forth from his touch. Waves ebb and flow: all different, some new, some familiar, some positive . . . and some negative. His brow furrows. “Hm. We have unwelcome guests.”

He sighs. Tooru is right. They will be busier than usual tonight.

“I’m back! I — Oh! May I come in?”

Fondness curls up the corners of  his lips. He shares an amused look with Soba. “Yes. You may.”

Already phasing half through the shoji, Tooru speeds straight to him in a flurry of pink and green. The cushion next to him dips as she kneels down with an orange, silk wrapped box. She sets it carefully in front of him. “It’s from Katsuki-sama. A crow dropped it off this morning.”

Shouto’s head jerks up. Katsuki? Jolted from her lazy sprawl, Soba makes an unhappy sound. Heart thumping, he rubs behind her ears in apology. “Is he here?”

Katsuki is a regular but not a constant visitor. He comes twice a month — on the first and fifteenth night of the lunar month — and thrice sometimes if matters require him to. 

"Um, no. I don’t think so? He hasn't checked in yet."

"Oh."

It makes sense. Shouto would have sensed him if he did. It would be odd too for Katsuki to come again so soon.

The disappointment must show on his face though because Tooru rushes out, "But I'm sure you'll see him soon! He always comes for you."

Soba headbutts his thigh in agreement.

Shouto fidgets. "We're not — He's not —" 

Mine . 

He does not have a claim on Katsuki, and Katsuki does not have a claim on him either. That is how things are between them. They share conversations, a meal or two, and a bed together sometimes. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

"He comes when — when he wants to."

The last words catch in his throat. He swallows hard. One day, Katsuki might not want to come, and that will be the end of their time together. It is inevitable, just like how seasons come and go, and life flows on. He trains his gaze on the wrapped gift. “What did he send?” 

“I have no idea,” says Tooru cheerfully, pressing no further, considerate again. Soba nuzzles his hand. “Shall I open it to find out?”

He nods.

Tooru hums. The silk unfolds with her invisible hands. The wooden lid slides off, and delicate layers of washi paper peel away to reveal silk fabric. 

Shouto stares. That is a — 

“A kimono!” Tooru squeals, clapping her hands. “It’s so beautiful!” 

It is. 

He touches the rich teal pattern of the obi belt and the glimmering sheen of the turquoise kimono. It is not tailored by human hands either. The painted pink lotuses sway gently as if under a breeze, and the glassy blues stream coolly under his fingertips like a living swatch of a pond rather than silk. He can feel a trace of spiritual power lacing through the threads. Katsuki must have had this made in the spirit realm. 

“It is beautiful,” he agrees aloud. His forehead creases. He does not understand why Katsuki gifted it to him though. Is there an upcoming special occasion that he does not know of?

“He has very good taste,” Tooru says happily. She takes the kimono out to straighten it fully. A slip of white paper falls.

Shouto picks it up and unfolds the note. In bold, sure brushstrokes, it reads:

Reminds me of you.

• Katsuki

His face warms up. So, Katsuki thinks of him sometimes when going about his usual business. Did Katsuki chance upon a bolt of fabric, and it caught his eye only because it somehow reminded him of Shouto? That’s . . . His heart thumps. That’s almost as if Katsuki misses him.

Shouto’s cheeks flush hotter. Lacing his hands together in his lap, he thumbs over his knuckles. His gaze darts back over the kimono. His brow puckers. He tilts his head, taking it in once more. But . . . 

“How does it remind you of me?”

Tooru squeals. “Is that what he wrote?” 

Ah. Did he say that aloud? He shifts and nods.

“That’s so romantic!” Tooru gushes out, her kimono sleeves fluttering up. “Let’s see.” She turns back to the kimono. “Oh! The turquoise matches your eye. And the water and lotuses go well with your spirit familiar. And it’s beautiful!” She claps her hands, hairpins swaying to the side. “Just like you!”

“Tooru,” he starts and stops. Heat flares back across his cheeks and down his neck. That cannot be why. “You’re exaggerating again. I’m not . . .” 

His fingers creep up and touch the old burn scar over his left eye. Self-consciousness burbles up. He is used to it now. He is. His scars are a part of him. But . . . some days, the weights he cast off wash up like lost mementos on the shore, and he finds himself picking up old insecurities and doubts like a bad habit.

He is . . . He is just himself. It is all he sees when he looks in the mirror. Tooru makes him sound like one of those legendary beauties who captivate everyone in the land and even a god or two from the heavens above. 

Soba bats his hand away from his cheek. She growls in warning.

“You are,” Tooru insists, sounding a little upset. Her figure flickers brightly. Energy roils from her in churning waves. She fists her trembling hands against her knees. “I won’t hear the one and only master I serve be belittled in front of me.”

His heartbeat knots painfully in his chest. Who he is has always been enough for the two in front of him. “Sorry,” he says softly.

“Mm?” She waves her hands and shakes her head. “You, um, don’t have to apologize.” She rocks back against her heels, flustered. “Anyway, we’re really late now! Let me help you get ready!” 

Soba headbutts his thigh and pushes him with her paws. Shouto gives a small smile. Nodding, he gets up and heads towards the dressing screen. Tooru follows with the kimono in her arms.

Shouto pauses. “I’m . . . wearing . . .  it? Now?” He was thinking of wearing a suit instead. It would be easier to move in, especially considering the unwanted visitors they have tonight. Tooru nods emphatically, her hairpins tinkling. He blinks and tilts his head. “But it’s not a festival or a holiday.”

“You don’t need a special day to dress up!” She pushes him forward. “Wearing a pretty outfit is how you start the day — I mean, night!”

Soba growls in agreement and bites down on the edge of his sheet to tug him too. Shouto blinks down. “You don’t wear clothes, Soba.”

A paw swats his ankles. He stumbles. Tooru laughs. He does not find his balance again because layers of silk fan across his vision, and Tooru’s skilled hands tug him left and right to her liking. 

“Done!”

Her fingers smooth a stray strand behind his left ear before she steps back. 

He looks up into his reflection.

A white and orange speckled koi fish sits right above his left ear, pinning red locks back and revealing more of his scar. He turns his head to see. Its jeweled scales glimmer wetly. The sea-green and blue glass beads dangle over his ear, clinking gently. 

Pretty. He does like koi fish. It is his spirit familiar after all. The koi fish goes well with the kimono too. It reminds him of the garden ponds and the ceiling of the hotel.

He turns the other way. The turquoise tassel earring on his other ear tickles his neck. He reaches up and fingers the white strands curling over his nape. 

Hmm. He gives another thoughtful glance towards the mirror. His hair is getting long. He should cut it short soon . . . Or . . . maybe . . .  should he grow it out?

"Is it alright?" Tooru frets, misunderstanding him. "I can pin the other side instead."

"No. It's fine. I —" His gaze flits from his reflection to their concerned figures. Fondness floods him, sweeping away the last of his lingering doubts.  "—I like it." He rises from the cushion. “Let’s go. We’re late.”

“Yes!” Hagakure flutters to his right with a happy hum. Soba slinks back into the silk screen, fur whisking back into brushstrokes, and follows them from panel to panel into the hallway. 

He turns the corner and sees Mashirao waiting patiently before the elevator. 

Tail flicking, Mashirao turns immediately and bows. “Good evening,” he greets, scanning them over. He pauses. “You look nice tonight, Todoroki-san.”

“What do you mean tonight?” Tooru demands, flying up to him. She pokes his chest. “Our master always looks handsome!”

Mashirao blinks rapidly. “Yes? Of course, our master does?”

“Is that a question or an answer? Do you doubt our master?”

“I — What? I would never doubt our master!”

“Then why do you sound unsure, hmm? Hmm?”

Shouto steps into the elevator. “The lobby, please.”

Reclining along the curve of the elevator dial, the lacquered, tri-colored maneki neko stretches with a wide yawn. It tilts its head towards Shouto, expectant and waiting. 

Shouto smiles. He rubs its plump belly, his fingertips stroking warm and smooth porcelain. The maneki neko purrs. Jumping down, it curls onto the red silk cushion on the floor. 

A jade marble materializes between its paws. It bats the marble once, twice before the marble spins, glowing. The doors slide shut. Gears whir. The needle of the elevator dial turns wildly. Numbers and symbols flash in a dizzying blur. The elevator jerks right, swings forward, and then plummets.

Mashirao raises his hands in surrender. His gaze darts over to Shouto. “I didn’t mean that as an offense.” His brow dips in worry. “You always look nice, Todoroki-san. I just wanted to know if you’re heading out or receiving a special guest tonight, so I can prepare.”

“Ah. No. Tooru dressed me tonight —”

 "Dressing up is fun!” Tooru crosses her arms with a huff. “Some of us like trying out new looks instead of committing to one single outfit for centuries.” 

Shouto blinks. Centuries? He tilts his head. His wardrobe keeps expanding, courtesy of Tooru and he supposes now, Katsuki. Surely, he has more than one outfit.

Mashirao flushes. His tail whisks across the elevator wooden bar as he pivots. His eyes widen in indignation. “That’s — A karategi is the proper uniform for a martial artist! I’m a guardian spirit, not a — a poet or musician!”

Ah. He sees now. “It suits you,” Shouto agrees with a nod. The white karategi is simple and practical. Easy to move in, easy to fight in. Mashirao acts in the same clean-cut lines too: humble but decisive, duty bound but honorable to a fault. Tooru tosses her head back though, so he adds, “Cherry blossoms match you too, Tooru.”

Cherry blossoms are flowers that signal the beginning of spring. Tooru blooms with optimism and cheerful youth too, he thinks. 

He is lucky to have them both as his shikigami. Very lucky. His fingers twitch at his sides. He bites his lips. Though, at first. he was reluctant to form a contract with them — with any youkai, really. He did not want to follow in his father’s footsteps. 

(This is our family’s duty, Shouto. You’re the only one who can fulfill it.

Weak! Too weak! Get up! Again! You need to get stronger!

Youkai are not your friends. They are your enemies at worst and your weapons at best. Do not forget that.)

His fingers curl tight. He would rather bleed his feet raw trying to forge his own path than ever tread the one his father paved for him. It's just that . . . 

His gaze returns to Mashirao and Tooru. His fists uncurl. A faint smile crosses his lips. It’s just that these two are equally stubborn and refuse to let him walk it alone.

“Yes. You —” Mashirao scratches his brow and looks away. Pink dusts his cheeks and ears, nearly coloring them the same delicate shade of Tooru’s kimono. “You look very pretty in pink.”

Tooru’s kimono bobs in the air. “Ah. I — Um. Thank you.” She rocks to and fro before settling back at Shouto’s side. She clears her throat. “I feel like I’m in a romance novel. A young maiden getting complimented by two handsome gentlemen at once.” She cups her cheeks and teases, “You’re making me blush. Who knew you could be such a smooth talker, Mashirao-kun? The girls would swoon if they knew!”    

Color darkens Mashirao’s cheeks. Tooru giggles. Confused but relieved that they are not actually arguing, Shouto nods.

Ding! 

The maneki neko closes its eyes and crinkles its face in an almost coy smile. It raises its right paw.  

“I’m not interested in them though,” he hears Mashirao mumble before the elevator door opens, and the bustle of the evening rush deafens all of his senses.

“Oh. We are busy.”

The lobby teems with youkai and ghosts. The revolving doors spin like water wheels, weaving in constant streams of guests. 

Bright scales glimmer out of the corner of his eye. A golden koi fish — one of his spirit familiars — touches his cheek gently before it swims on and joins the school of its colorful brethren. Their luminescent, ethereal bodies glide effortlessly through the clamoring crowd.

Overhead, the ceiling ripples, mirroring the underwater surface of the sea. Hazy brightness dapples the wooden floors in undulating patterns. Ghostly blue-green waves crest up, lapping the walls and furniture in a far gentler sea than the currents of rushing bodies.

Ding-ding! Ding-ding!

The silver bell at the front desk rings over and over, pitching just barely above the loud chatter. Even from here, Shouto can see Mezou’s six arms moving in a frenzy. Hands pass the book for guests to sign, and fingers flip through the rows to find the keys for their rooms. Mezou’s eyeballs blink open on the ends of his remaining free limbs, scanning for any guests trying to enter without checking in.

Shouto’s forehead creases. He strides forward. “We need more staff at the front desk.”

“The attendants are either helping out in the kitchens or preparing more rooms," Tooru answers without hesitation. Her kimono sleeve flutters up. She leans in, lowering her voice. "The twentieth floor flooded. Some guests got, er, too rowdy and accidentally lit their room on fire." 

Shouto sighs. "Again?”

They will have to give stricter warnings to repeat offenders. It is already the seventh time this month that a floor flooded or got wrecked because of reckless guests.

"Mm-hm. I told Minoru and Yuga to help out at the front desk." She tosses back her head. Her hair pins glitter sharply. "They can multitask with their concierge duties anyhow. Especially since a certain someone keeps offering suggestions for dates instead of other actually fun, recreational activities for our guests."

Shouto pauses. “Dates?”

Mashirao scrunches his nose. “Minoru is still flirting with the guests. And Yuga keeps offering them roses and cheese for some reason.” He grimaces. “Minoru’s already been slapped three times this week. I found him tied up and hanging upside down from a tree just this morning.”

“Hmph.” Tooru waves a hand in dismissal. “Serves him right. You should’ve left him there.” 

Mashirao shrugs. “The gardeners were complaining about it.”

Shouto blinks. “But . . . ” he starts slowly, “they are still arranging tours and making reservations in the afterlife for the recently departed . . . ” 

Tooru fidgets, her kimono rippling. Mashirao scratches his cheek, not meeting Shouto’s stare. 

Dread crawls up. Already, he can see the paperwork piling up in his office: the liability waivers for the hotel to take responsibility of the dead before they pass on to the other side, the inquiries from the Department of Supernatural Affairs on the current status of certain spirits of interest, and the summons from the heavenly officials demanding why the souls have not arrived on schedule yet. 

“Aren’t they?” he asks weakly. Maybe he needs to call Yuga and Minoru into his office for a talk. “Because the youkai are fine, but the human ghosts can't stay here for an extended period.”

Rest? Yes. Make last amends and reunite with loved ones? Of course. Purify their souls in order to pass on? Most definitely. Those are all services the hotel is more than glad to provide. 

Take up permanent residence here? No. Just thinking of the violations and consequential meetings with representatives from both the human world and spirit realm makes his head hurt already. 

Mashirao clears his throat. “Well . . . Yuga and Minoru are . . . erm, they get distracted, but they do follow through with their duties. I’m sure they have things under control.”

They all turn. 

Right on cue, Minoru climbs on top of the front desk. "Beauties first!” he hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard. “Everyone else, wait your turn!"

A murmur of dissent filters through the gathering crowd.

“Nevermind,” Mashirao mumbles, rubbing his forehead like he also feels the impending headache. “Maybe you should go talk to them.” His nose scrunches up. “I really don’t want to cut Minoru down from another tree. Koji gets sad when it scares off the birds, and he can’t hear their morning song.”

Shouto frowns. 

“Why trouble our master over such trivial matters?” Tooru draws herself up, back straight and shoulders squared back. Her hands slide into her kimono sleeves smoothly and elegantly. “Leave it to me, Todoroki-san,” she says primly, bowing, “I will make sure to re-educate the idiots — ahem, the staff on our policies very thoroughly.”

Without waiting for a response, she pivots sharply and flies straight towards the front desk. “Oh, Minoru-kun ?”  

Mashirao winces. “On second thought, maybe getting tied to a tree is more merciful.”

Shouto nods. “Tooru is very mad,” he agrees. 

Minoru’s panicked yelp rings out. They both watch as Tooru yanks him down by the ear. Yuga snatches back the rose he was about to offer to the slender doe youkai and tucks it quickly behind his ear. Whistling, he hands her the key instead. One of Mezou’s eyes rolls immediately in exasperation. 

He won’t need to talk to them after all. Tooru’s scolding will scald their ears for nights to come.

He walks on. Mashirao moves in sync with him, tail neatly whisking behind them. Shouto’s gaze skims back over the lobby and stops on the living humans mingling with the crowd. 

White collar shirts. Black suits and ties. Faint waves of spiritual energy ripple from them. 

His forehead creases. “There are a lot of exorcists here today.”

That much surveillance can only mean that the exorcists have a target in sight. He frowns. The exorcists must be after the unwanted visitors, whoever they may be. 

“Yes. They must be trying to apprehend someone,” Mashirao agrees. “Most likely the trespassers I sensed earlier tonight.” A familiar look of focused calm sharpens Mashirao’s features. “I already alerted the staff. So far, no one has seen anyone suspicious.” 

Good. Shouto gives a nod in approval. 

The corners of Mashirao’s mouth tighten as he surveys the lobby. His eyes narrow. “Actually, I think I’ll have someone check the perimeter again.”

Shouto spots the dissatisfied flick of his tail. Mashirao, he knows, would prefer to go and handle it himself, but Mashirao also loathes to leave him unguarded, especially when the hotel opens. Fondness curls warm and soft in his chest again. “I’m glad you're by my side,” he says, wondering if he ever expressed his gratitude before. “I can always rely on you. Thank you.”

Mashirao’s head snaps back. Bright red colors his cheeks and spreads down his neck. A quick, helpless half-smile curves Mashirao’s lips before Mashirao can duck his face to hide it. “That’s — I am only doing my duties as I should. You don’t need to thank — Tooru!”

Tooru’s shriek rings out. Spiritual energy swells and crashes forth, cold and gritty against Shouto’s senses like a murky wave. He spins back at the same time that Mashirao sprints towards the front desk. 

A chained suitcase on the counter springs open. Black and crimson Hundred-Eyed Butterflies swarm the lobby. Eerie yellow-pupiled eyes blink open on their curse-patterned wings and swivel around to track movement. Dark scales rain down, petrifying anything and anyone it touches. 

Cries ring out. Panicking, everyone runs, shoving each other in their haste to get to the nearest exit.

“Calm down!” Shouto shouts, trying to raise his voice over the stampeding crowd. “Don’t rush to —!”

Spiritual energy crashes over him in another muddying wave. Giant blue and yellow speckled giant frogs leap forward. Long, sticky pink tongues shoot out. 

“Watch out!” He dives behind a potted plant. Too slow to dodge, the burly, ox youkai in the straw hat grunts in pain as the tongue zaps them. They crash down, their body spasming with the shocks. 

Shrill screams pierce the air. The rushing crowd heaves into a blind frenzy. 

“Out of the way!”

“What are those?!”

“Help!”

“Tch.” His jaw tightens. They will have to reinforce their ban against contraband items. This is unacceptable. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the bureau’s exorcists fighting. Quickly, he presses his hands together, twisting his fingers in practiced ease.

Instantly, the school of koi fish shoots up, up, up. Their iridescent bodies glow brighter, twisting and turning in perfect synchrony. United, they sweep into a coiling, glittering shape zooming through the ghostly sea. 

“Hey! Stay away from the beautiful people!” Minoru yells. Plucking the grapes from his hair, he lobs them furiously at the leaping frogs. “Take this! And this! Hah! We’lll see who’s the stickiest!”

They slap against the frogs, squelching loudly. Mucus oozes from the frogs’ glistening skin. The grape balls slide harmlessly off them. 

“This is not a very elegant competition!” Yuga yells, ducking just as a long tongue shoots past his head. Popping back up, he yanks open his kimono and bares his torso. Embedded in his navel, a sapphire blue magatama gleams. Brilliant light shoots out, cutting a swath through the frogs. 

“Call your pets off!” Mezou bites out, wrestling a four-headed youkai to the ground. The owner of the suitcase most likely, Shouto guesses. Their reddening flesh contorts and expands, morphing constantly from multiple heads weeping and protesting to a single multi-eyed head spitting out dark curses. The veins in Mezou’s arms stand stark, straining, as he fights to pin the youkai down. “Watch out! The frogs are camouflaging with their surroundings!”

The frogs’ glistening bodies ripple wetly. They fade against the floor and furniture. 

“More are coming out of the suitcase!” Tooru’s figure flashes blindingly. She spreads her arms. Brightness flares, a star radiating. “Mashirao-kun!”

Eyes on beating wings tear up, squinting and blinking unseeingly. The butterflies around the front desk plummet to the floor.

“On it!” Gold-green fire blazes off Mashirao, curling off him in a wild mane and flaming from his fists. Already shifting half-way into his lion-dog form, he kicks off a pillar and strikes up. Fire flares. The butterflies char, crumbling to dust. 

“Use this!” Shouto shouts, flicking a paper talisman his way. “Seal the suitcase!”

Another tongue shoots out. Mashirao catches the talisman and ducks. Dodging the frog, he hauls himself over the front desk. He slaps the talisman onto the suitcase and slams the suitcase shut just as an impossibly enormous centipede youkai shoots out of it.

Hissing, it rears up. Rows of razor-sharp teeth flash, revealing a grotesque maw and snapping mandibles. The human face above its hissing centipede face gives a menacing smile. Without warning, it snakes away, its red armored spines scraping the wooden floor. Mashirao lunges with a roar. Soba pounces out of a hanging scroll painting with a snarl. 

Too late, the centipede youkai sinks into a shadow and disappears.  

Shouto frowns. That one will be a pain to exorcise. He draws himself to his feet and brings two fingers in front of him. He inhales. Power swells, an ocean rocking up and through his fingertips. The blurring school of koi fish shapes into a dragon and rears up.

He exhales.

The dragon springs forward, twisting around and around viciously. The waves churn faster and faster, shredding the remaining butterflies and invisible frogs clinging onto the walls and furniture. Glimmering fish scales flash in the fierce whirlpool. Purifying everything they touch, the dragon-shaped school of koi fish carves through the whole lobby.

Shouto rakes his gaze over the undulating shadows. So the centipede youkai refuses to show itself. His lips press together. Fine. He will force it out. Frost chills the air. Ice crackles underneath his feet and spreads. 

“Ah, ah? I feel something most unpleasant! Who dares creep behind my back? Reveal yourself, coward!”

Shouto spins right. 

The face of the great grandfather clock scowls. Its minute and hour hands rattle, bristling like whiskers. “Young master, I sense a dirty scoundrel! The absolute audacity!”

A shadow writhes behind the great grandfather clock and snakes up the wall. 

There. His hand thrusts out. Ice spikes up — 

“Todoroki-san, your right!” Mashirao shouts. “Watch out!”

Spiritual energy scrapes his senses. Steel glints from his right. He lurches back just as a serrated knife stabs forward. Who —

“It’s only right if he loses someone precious to him too,” a ghostly human face sneers, slashing forward again. “You’re human like us, aren’t you?!”

Shouto dodges and flicks two fingers. Ice juts up, blocking the next strike. Shards fly, shattering. The ghost re-grips the combat knife and shifts his stance. The visor of his dark helmet glints coldly. Malevolence cloaks the man, curling raggedly off his ghostly form like dark flames.

A vengeful spirit.

Shouto squints at the bulky bulletproof vest and dark blue uniform peeking through the malevolence. A police officer? “I don’t understand,” he calls out. His fingers twitch, sliding a hidden paper talisman from his sleeve. “What are you talking about?” 

The shadow from behind the bristling grandfather clock slithers away. Shouto’s brow furrows. Tensing, he tracks the lobby and tries again, “Who are you? What do you want?”

Two, no, three more officers materialize from behind the ghost. A team killed in action? He frowns. But why are they attacking him? Usually, it would be youkai demanding their names to be returned —

His gaze flicks back over their uniforms. Modern day. Human. Not youkai. Skilled though. Armed too. The Special Assault Team, most likely. Anyhow, they are not the type of spirits that would catch his father’s eye and be forced into a contract with him. Why then? Why are they —

The ghost captain charges. Shouto catches his wrist and yanks, turning with the momentum. The captain’s teammates raise their arms. Darkness billows from their palms and molds into guns. The muzzles gleam. Shouto’s eyes widen. He slaps the talisman onto the ghost captain’s chest and shoves him away. “Everyone, take cover!”

Bullets whizz through the air. He slams his palms onto the ground. Ice spikes up, shielding the crowd. It smothers the officers, encasing them in jagged blocks. 

That takes care of the ghosts. What about the centipede youkai? Panting, he turns his head. “Mashirao!”

“I have it!” Mashirao shouts, running alongside Soba. Mashirao kicks up and slams his foot into a hanging lantern. Its shadow swings up, stretching wider, and scuttles up a wooden pillar. The dragon-shaped school of koi fish roars. Rushing forth, it curves around the pillar and chases the elongating tendril of shadow.

Crack!

Shouto’s heart jolts. What? He jerks back.

Fissures streak across the frozen officers. Just how strong is their grudge? The talisman blazes in violet through the frosted layers of ice and dispels in a dark haze. 

It is the only warning he gets before all hell breaks loose. 

Muzzles flash. A shrill screech pierces the air. The shadow shoots forward and sharpens into red spindly scales. The officers in front charge. Bullets fly. 

Flames curl off his fingertips. His jaw clenches. Vengeful spirits or not, those are still souls, but — 

He stretches his hand out. There is no time for purification. He has no choice —

Divinity erupts, engulfing the entire hotel. The hairs on Shouto’s nape rise. Goosebumps lash down his back. Shouto chokes on his gasp. Spiritual energy storms through the air and howls through all of his senses.

Bright steel carves brutally through the twisting centipede. A familiar, long blonde ponytail whips wildly. Pure divinity crackles and explodes from an outstretched palm like a burning, orange sun.

Boom!

The blast flings the officers back. The tremor of the hotel vibrates up through Shouto’s toes to his fingertips. 

In a blink of an eye, Katsuki stands in between him and the ghost captain, commanding and dangerous in bold black and dark orange silk. He looks every inch the fearsome god that warriors in the past worshiped and prayed for his favor before every battle. He looks exactly like his namesake.

Shouto’s heart thumps. 

“What the fuck is this?” Katsuki’s voice is steel. His katana edges against the ghost’s throat, forcing the man to glare up. “Answer me.”

Shouto’s skin prickles sharply again with warning. His heartbeat thunders in his ears. He can feel it. Katsuki’s divinity blazes wilder and wilder, ruthlessly violent and terrifyingly infinite, a burning sun forever on the rise.

His knees go weak, buckling from the pressure. All around him, everyone already kneels down with their heads lowered.  

No one dares to answer. Hushed silence falls over the lobby.

“Why did we lose? Huh?” the ghost spits out. Malevolence flares darkly. The man’s face contorts in rage. “ You tell me what the fuck is going on! The hell happened with our op? Huh!? We did months of undercover work! Triple-checked all of our intel! We had the exact locations of where they held all the girls they trafficked in! It was supposed to be a clean sting! We outnumbered those fuckers!” 

An animal sound of fury tears from the ghost’s throat. He surges up, but unseen pressure slams the ghost back down on his knees. The steel in Katsuki’s hand stays steady, glinting cold and diamond-bright in the light, his grip unyielding and unshakable.

Unbidden, an old adage drifts up in Shouto’s memory: No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it .

He wets his lips. His gaze runs across the breadth of Katsuki’s strong back. It is a distance that he knows, one that he mapped out before with his hands and lips, but it does not feel like a distance he can cross now. Katsuki looks untouchable like this. 

This . . . This is a side of Katsuki that he does not know. Not really. Maybe not ever. How can a human presume to know a god? It is like trying to count all the stars when the sky he sees — that he can see — is only a scrap of the cosmic patchwork. 

His fingers twitch. Dryness rasps at the back of his throat and his palms, burnt by the realization. 

 “So tell me, why did we lose signal with command? Why did my men die off one by one? Why?!” the ghost captain screams, thrashing despite being pinned. The devastation and grief ring sharp in Shouto’s ears, rattling his nerves. Shouto swallows. His gaze darts down, and he sees a desperate man with nothing more to lose. “Why is my whole team dead, and they’re all still alive, huh? Tell me why those shitheads won, and we didn’t!” 

“You think you and your men lost your lives because you didn’t have my blessing.” Katsuki stands unmoved, his body the unforgiving spine of the mountain. Stone does not bleed, and there is no mercy to be given from Katsuki. Katsuki’s voice hardens. “Is that what winning means to you?”

The ghost captain stiffens. “You — You’re a god, aren’t you? You could have done something — fuck, anything to help us!” His fists curl, malevolence flaming darkly. “He was right.” 

Shouto furrows his brow. He? 

“You gods don’t give a damn about us,” the ghost seethes. “Innocents are dying — suffering with you so-called gods answering none of our prayers. But, here you are, huh?” He gives a bitter laugh. “Rushing to protect your precious favorite.” 

His resentful gaze lands on Shouto, and Shouto startles to see that the man means him. An ugly sneer twists the man’s features. “Is that it? Do you only bless those in your bed, kami-sama ? I gotta say, didn’t think your taste would be a scarred slut. Is he earning your favor on his back —”

“Excuse me!” Tooru calls out sharply, head jerking up. Light shimmers off her stiffening form. “What did you just call our master?”

“Apologize,” Mashirao grits out, suddenly beside Shouto. His tail flicks sharply. Rare anger flares across his expression. “Now.”

A warning growl rumbles from Soba. She stalks forward, flanking Shouto’s other side.

“That was very uncalled for, mister,” Yuga says coldly, all of his usual jovialness evaporating. Kneeling next to him, Minoru eyes the ghost officers. His fingers inch back up to his head. 

Mezou does not move from where he pins down the shapeshifting youkai, but his appendages swivel in their direction, his extra sets of eyes narrowing. “We don’t welcome those who insult our master  —”

Pressure thickens. Shouto’s eyes widen. His knees sink further, scraping the floor. The wood splinters, caving underneath the pinned ghost officers, their bodies slammed down under the crushing weight of Katsuki’s surging power like a star bearing down. 

Their malevolence thins. The negative energy wisps away from their ghostly silhouettes, the black flames smothered completely by Katsuki’s crackling divinity. Shouto can see all of them in vivid clarity now: their blood-stained uniforms, the fear and betrayal in their wide eyes, the painful vulnerability that renders them all too human again. 

“Say that again,” Katsuki snarls. His katana presses deeper, cutting not into skin, but the very soul. The flickering edges of the ghost captain disintegrate where they touch the bright steel. Shouto sucks in a breath. A soul destroyed cannot be brought to rest. It is why he didn’t want to use his flames before. “I dare you to fucking say it again.”

“Katsuki.” Heartbeat pounding, he reaches out and tugs Katsuki’s sleeve. There is no need to go this far. “Katsuki, stop. Katsuki.” Katsuki does not budge, does not move. It is as if Katsuki can’t hear him, can’t see him. It stings somehow. His fingers curl, tightening. “Katsuki, stop it. Katsuki-sama!”

Katsuki flinches. Shouto’s shoulders jerk back as his own voice echoes piercingly in the lobby. Katsuki swings his head back, a little wild-eyed. He looks taken aback. 

Oh. Shouto blinks rapidly. He — It has been a while since he addressed Katsuki properly by title. Since when did that start?

Curious heads peek their way. Catching himself, he uncurls his fingers and lets go. Something complicated crosses Katsuki’s expression.

“I can take over from here,” Shouto says steadily, focusing back on what is important right now. He raises his chin a little stubbornly. “They deserve peace. I want them to move on.”

Katsuki meets his gaze. He does not relax his stance, but the pressure in the air lessens somewhat. Turning back, Katsuki watches the officers with narrowed eyes for one long, tense moment. He clicks his tongue. “Tcch.” His katana lowers. “Don’t forget what you all fought for,” he says brusquely. “You weren’t risking your life every damn day because of a prayer to me.” 

The ghost officers all flinch. They look away, shamefaced and regretful. 

“I — I didn’t mean that —” the ghost captain rasps out, voice cracking. His eyes rove wildly around the lobby and widen in belated horror. He clasps a trembling hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry. I don’t . . . I don’t know what came over me. As soon as we heard him say it was your fault, we — I just lost it. I didn’t mean to — Damn it.” He shakes. A worried murmur of the captain’s name threads through his team, and Shouto can feel the unease rippling from his fellow officers. “We . . . We protect people. That’s right. That’s what we do. So . . . So this . . . is . . .” His eyes squeeze shut, face drawing tight in agony. “What have we done ?”

“It’s alright,” Shouto reassures, gently grasping the ghost’s forearm to pull him up. “The hotel has seen worse.” It is not uncommon either for ghosts to lose control of themselves and succumb to the negative emotions that dying brings. 

The captain’s face pales further. Shouto frowns. That is not quite the reaction he wanted. “It is not easy to accept death,” he tries, “be it your own or someone else’s.” 

It is worrying though that a mysterious “he” instigated this. He will have to look further into this. For now — 

“Tooru, please check them in and show them to their rooms.”

Tooru makes an unhappy sound. She floats over. “Please follow me,” she says shortly, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “I will go over the rules of the hotel. Listen well.” She leads them away. “The first rule is to never ever insult our master again. You will not be forgiven a second time. The second rule is . . .”

Shouto blinks. He does not remember establishing that as a rule.

“Hup! Hup! Hup!”

Without warning, white uniforms spill out of the elevator. Shouto’s entire kitchen staff marches into the lobby. 

“Where is the fire?” Rikidou bellows, brandishing his cleaver in the air. Behind him, his sous chefs and line cooks let out a fierce shout and wave their kitchen utensils in solidarity. 

Shouto stares. “There's another fire?” 

How many floors are flooded tonight? Who is setting all of these fires?

“Are you dicin’ and choppin’  the fire away, you idiots?” Katsuki berates. He scowls. “Where the fuck is the water?”

“You heard him!” Rikidou yells, spinning right around. “The hotel is in flames! We need water! Let’s go!”

“Yes, chef!”

The lobby buzzes with alarm.

“No!” Mashirao shouts, waving his hands frantically. He races after the marching line of chefs. “No, there is no fire! Everyone, calm down! There is no fire! Please proceed to check in if you haven’t done so. Staff will be on hand if you need help with anything — Hey, Rikidou! Are you listening? Stop!”

Like a dam breaking, the silence disperses in a loud burst of chatter. A torrent of rushing bodies surges back through the lobby.

“My bag! Oh, where is my bag?”

“Excuse me, excuse me. Coming through!”

“I was here first! Wait your turn, you big oaf!”

“I’d like to check in now!”

Ding-ding! Ding-ding!

The bell chimes repeatedly. Yuga and Minoru both scramble back to their places at the front desk.

The exorcists break away from their positions and head towards Mezou and the youkai he subdued.

Shouto presses his lips together. He moves in the same direction.

“ — is appreciated. We'll take the youkai into our custody now.”

“Not without my permission,” Shouto interrupts. The exorcists glance up in surprise. Mezou re-secures his grip on the youkai.

The exorcists all look at each other. Shouto does not recognize any of their faces. It must be a newly assigned team. He wonders who approved this operation. Aizawa would have lectured them from the start.

“Shouto-san,” the woman to his right tries. “This youkai is dangerous. It’s been smuggling in sealed youkai and cursed items to sell off to unscrupulous parties. It can’t be let loose.”

“Yes. You knew, and you didn't tell us,” Shouto answers bluntly. If they warned him beforehand, then everyone could have worked together, and it would have been less of a disaster. “You used the hotel for a sting and endangered everyone here.” 

He eyes them for a moment. Maybe it is not recklessness but carelessness. After all, besides himself, there is only the dead and the inhuman in the hotel. What lives would be lost here? That’s the textbook mindset that he grew up with and trained to. 

Exorcists, for all that they do, are not shinigami. They protect the living, not the dead. But, even the shinigami cannot keep track of every soul to be reaped and guided to where they should be. It is why the hotel exists, for all the lost wayward souls that fall in the blind spots between the two parties. 

The woman frowns. The other exorcists avoid meeting his assessing gaze. Their silence is confirmation enough.

One of them coughs. The man steps forward. “Right. We’ll uh, make sure to give you a heads-up next time. But we really need to take this one in.” He jabs his thumb towards the youkai. “You know the protocol, Todoroki-san. You were an exorcist before, yeah?” He glances past Shouto. Tugging on his collar, he clears his throat again. “We’re just following orders, kami-sama.”

Shouto blinks. He turns his head.

Having followed him, Katsuki scowls. “His hotel, his rules.”

“Y-Yes, yes, yes, the r-rules,” one of the heads blubbers, craning its neck from under Mezou’s arms.

“Follow the rules!” another sobs. The weeping head next to it lets out a screeching wail.

Flesh contorts, and all of the heads merge into a single multi-eyed head. Dark yellow eyes crease in glee, and a terrible grin stretches across their face. “I already checked in,” the youkai cackles out. “I’m a guest of this hotel now! You can’t drag me out, fools!”

Shouto glances at Mezou. Mezou gives an apologetic nod. In that case . . . 

He beckons with a finger. The hotel registry books levitate up from the front desk. One of them flies to him. The book opens. Pages flip, fanning quickly until one single page sticks straight out from the spine.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

He tears the page out and folds it in half. “You violated the rules of this hotel,” Shouto says, ignoring the youkai’s curses. “As such, I ban you from the premises and revoke your privileges as a guest. Begone.”

He slips the paper between his lips and claps his hands. Spiritual energy ripples up through him. Tilting his head back, he exhales. 

“No!”

The youkai’s true name lifts off the paper, billowing out. The inked characters scatter to the breeze like dandelion seeds.

The dragon-shaped school of fish swarms down. Its clawed hand fists the youkai and yanks them out from Mezou. The youkai’s screeches warble. Its contorting flesh compresses further and further into a sphere as the hotel itself rejects its presence.

One of the exorcists flicks a talisman and seals it with a murmured chant.

“You can take them away for questioning,” Shouto concedes. There is no point in keeping the youkai here. He frowns. “But I won't accept this behavior again.”

The exorcists give hasty bows and nods before they hurry away with the youkai in tow.

Shouto turns and meets Katsuki’s unreadable gaze. The sea of people flows around them, and the stream of his thoughts trickles too fast for him to put into words. “I . . .  I didn’t think you would be back so soon.”

Katsuki gives him a sidelong look. He rests his katana lazily on a shoulder and nods to his right. “Some extras wanted an audience.” 

Two shinigami wait by a pillar. Robed in black, they rest their hands on their katanas, already on high alert. White horned masks cover their faces, but even that does not conceal the agitation Shouto can feel churning from them.   

Oh. So that is why Katsuki came back so soon. Of course. Urgent business. Why else? 

“I see,” he says, averting his gaze. Disappointment stings without warning like a papercut. He turns, trying to stem his feelings from bleeding over. He knows their arrangement. He is fine with it. He is. 

“Halfie —”

“I’ll make sure no one disturbs your talk.” He moves, knowing not where he goes, only that he can’t be here.

Katsuki follows.

“You shouldn’t be carrying a weapon out in the open like that,” he finds himself saying. It is not at all what he wants to say. Hotel policy is the last thing on his mind. “Fighting is against hotel rules.”

His nape tingles sharply. He can feel Katsuki’s piercing gaze drilling into his back. He grimaces. Maybe he is the one picking a fight.  

Loud bickering suddenly rings out. Two winged youkai swoop down, wrestling each other in the air, and careen straight towards him.

Before Shouto can even think of dodging, a strong arm wraps around his waist and pulls him back against the familiar hard contours of Katsuki’s body. 

Oh. 

Shouto’s breath hitches. The warm smoke of burning incense and sweetness of melting sugar curls through him. It is a scent that is uniquely Katsuki’s. Want flickers, his body all too easily ignited by Katsuki’s familiar touch.

Katsuki knows him too well because he squeezes Shouto’s hip, his fingers curling right over the fading bruises. A hot ache blooms in Shouto’s belly, throbbing underneath his skin. Shouto shudders, teeth digging deep into his lips. He fights the urge to clasp Katsuki’s arm tighter around himself, squeeze Katsuki’s hands until they fist harder.

He wants so badly. Wants Katsuki’s hands gripping his hips mean. Wants Katsuki’s teethmarks indenting his skin. Wants Katsuki’s desire marking him as something wanted and kept. He wants, wants, wants, and every little tryst leaves him desperate for more. 

Katsuki’s mouth brushes his ear. “You’re right.” The deep growl of his voice reverberates in Shouto’s chest. His grip tightens, and Shouto can feel the heated press of Katsuki’s cock against his backside. Shouto trembles, barely biting back a whine. “It’s dangerous to leave swords unsheathed.”

Heat floods his cheeks. Curious looks dart their way, and the scrutiny only makes him burn even hotter. Unbothered, Katsuki strokes down the jut of Shouto’s hip, his fingers dipping dangerously low. His palm presses in, hot and heavy, nearly cupping underneath Shouto’s navel. A choked whimper slips from Shouto. That’s not fair — it’s mean to remind him of the emptiness inside.  “Ka-Katsuki, we’re outside —”

Katsuki pivots them fluidly behind a pillar. The wooden carvings press into his back. Locking their gazes together, Katsuki slowly slides his katana into the scabbard at his side. The hilt clicks against the steel, and a bladed tingle snaps across Shouto’s skin. 

Shouto swallows hard. He remembers how easily those capable, sword-calloused hands make him beg for his own devastation. 

Katsuki’s smoldering gaze runs over him, stoking the heat simmering in his body. “You’re wearing the kimono already, huh?” He sweeps a stray lock from Shouto’s brow and tucks it behind Shouto’s ear. His fingers skim across the soft skin of his earlobe before they flick the long tassel earring teasingly. His other hand fits back over Shouto’s waist. Deft fingers smooth over the patterned silk, slyly tracing the dips and curves underneath. 

Electric jolts buzz down Shouto’s spine, tingling sharply in his palms and low in his belly. Grip me harder , Shouto thinks selfishly, desperately, pulse running wild with a desire too sinful to wish into a prayer. Hold me closer and tighter. So he can’t leave, and he doesn’t need an excuse for not wanting to.  

The corner of Katsuki’s lips hikes up. “Knew I got the measurements right. It fits you well, pretty boy.”

Shouto flushes. So, Katsuki really did choose the kimono with him in mind. “Tooru wanted me to wear it.” His gaze darts down to the playful curve of Katsuki’s lips and back up. He wets his lips. “She said you have good taste.”

Satisfaction gleams in Katsuki’s eyes. “Yeah? I do have good taste.” He presses closer and leans in. The space shrinks to the shared breath between them. “I like the fucking best after all.”

Warm lips slant over Shouto’s own, and he opens up, starving for it. Katsuki delves in, never one to miss an opportunity. His tongue strokes along Shouto’s own, slick and hot, and — 

Oh. Shouto’s eyelids flutter shut. He clutches Katsuki’s kimono. Divinity sears through him, radiating crackling warmth and healing whatever scrapes and bruises he received from the scuffle. Katsuki’s presence envelops him whole, like the sun touching everything the earth lays bare. 

Too soon, Katsuki pulls back, breaking the kiss. 

A needy sound slips from him. No. Not yet. Tugging Katsuki back, he blinks dazedly up. 

Katsuki makes a low sound. “Look at you.” He cradles Shouto’s cheek, thumb stroking over Shouto’s deepening flush. “I should keep you like this. All pretty and overflowing with my blessing.” Katsuki’s eyes flash, and Shouto sees the warning glint of steel again. “All these extras need to learn their fucking place before you. No one fucks with what is mine.”  

The casual possessiveness makes Shouto burn hot. His cock throbs, fully hard and aching. Katsuki’s divinity radiates underneath his skin like a slow, steady steep in sunlight. 

“Am I?” he risks out, voice cracking. Katsuki’s gaze cuts up. Swallowing, Shouto turns his cheek into Katsuki’s palm and watches Katsuki through his lashes and the messy fluff of his bangs. “Yours?”

And would that make you mine?

“You want me to prove it?” Katsuki’s thumb traces the kiss-swollen curve of his lips. “Huh?”

Not looking away, Shouto parts his lips in challenge. He sucks sweetly on Katsuki’s thumb, flicking the tip of his tongue out. He does not even need to exaggerate the moan that slips out; he can taste salt and Katsuki’s familiar warm scent. It makes him ache for the remembered thickness of Katsuki’s cock weighing heavy on his tongue and choking him full. 

Katsuki’s eyes blaze with the dare. “I can,” he growls, the dangerous promise edging his voice. His fingers run through the red and white tresses curling on Shouto’s nape, stroking gentle circles even as hunger flickers in his gaze. His palm curves around Shouto’s nape, squeezing just so. 

Shouto whines, caught confusingly between being soothed and being turned on. He sinks, anchored under Katsuki’s unyielding grip, under the unshakeable faith that he will be kept safe and Katsuki’s. 

“I can claim you here and right now, and show everyone just who you belong to.” Katsuki’s arm circles his waist, bringing him even closer, their bodies pressing from hip to chest. His burning palm smooths down the curve of Shouto’s back. The tingling trail curls hotly in Shouto’s belly. Those skilled fingers skirt the edge of Shouto’s obi, lingering on the tender dip right below his spine. 

Shouto’s breath hitches. 

Without stopping, Katsuki slips his fingers down into Shouto’s crease, parting his cheeks through the silk. He rubs: the thickness of his fingers presses against Shouto’s sensitive twitching rim, teasing fullness where he is so, so, so empty.

Shouto whimpers. He clutches Katsuki’s collar. It’s not fair. He can’t ever win against Katsuki when Katsuki knows all of his weaknesses like the back of his hand.

“Remind everyone just who you’re so sweet for down here, huh? You carry more than my blessing inside after all.” Katsuki palms his cheek, squeezing. 

Shouto’s hips buck forward. Katsuki’s hard cock grazes his thigh, and gods, he needs it so badly. He wants it inside, thrusting deep and fucking him full. He wants the tender ache of being remade around Katsuki’s shape. He wants to rock back into the steel grip of Katsuki’s sword hand because surrendering his vulnerability to this god feels more like a win than a loss when Katsuki looks at him like he is the sweetest victory there is to earn. 

A dangerous grin cuts across Katsuki’s handsome face like he can already follow the wanton path of Shouto’s wants. Spreading him wider, he circles his entrance, stroking mercilessly. “Your pretty little cunt remembers, doesn’t it? Whose cock it belongs to?”

Shouto’s rim puckers, kissing Katsuki’s fingertips as if in a lewd vow of fidelity. Katsuki chuckles. Humiliation burns Shouto’s cheeks even as his belly clenches hard. The eddying waves of spiritual energy quicken, and feet scurry, fabric rustling, as if hurrying past the pillar. 

Can they hear? Is everyone looking at them?

He tucks his burning face into the crook of Katsuki’s throat and shoulder. “Yours,” he chokes out, hands fisting Katsuki’s clothes. “I’m all yours. Only yours .” The confession tears from him, stinging and raw, his heart bared like an open wound. “They’ll see that I fit only you.”

That is, if everyone doesn't know already.

The loneliness in him is a lot like his old burn, Shouto thinks. It is phantom pain, a scar that blood ties could not knit back and that friendship healed but could not erase. It is probably just as visible too. 

Maybe it is fated, this aching emptiness in him, because Katsuki fills him a little too perfectly, like the space was always hollowed out for two.

Katsuki stiffens against him. 

Oh. He shouldn't have said that. 

His hands clench, white-knuckled, and his chest squeezes even tighter. “I —” he starts and stops. Swallowing, he does not lift his head up and blinks hard at the folds of Katsuki’s kimono.

Lovers. They’re supposed to be just lovers. This isn’t what a lover is supposed to say. 

What did all of Katsuki’s other lovers do? Did they know better than to fall in love with a god? Did they part first before Katsuki could?

Katsuki’s hands draw back. Shouto’s heart hammers hard, dread knotting his stomach. 

Warm arms wrap around him. Embracing him tightly, Katsuki presses a kiss to his hair like he is something sweet and soft instead of greedy and selfish, spoiling him instead of denying him. Shouto lets out a small sound. Helpless, he buries himself further into the protective curve of Katsuki’s body, feeling even smaller — and more unbearably, precious. 

“Sweetheart, don’t tempt me,” Katsuki says, voice so hoarse that his ragged timbre scrapes at the back of Shouto’s own throat. “No one fucking gets to see you like this. I ain’t ever granting that favor to anyone.”

The tightness in his chest throbs. Taking the risk, he lifts his head and sees Katsuki gazing back intently like Shouto is the only one he sees. His heart pounds. It is like having the sun impossibly turning to face the earth, a god answering a prayer out of thousands.

All of Katsuki’s past lovers really are different from him. They must have had a resolve forged of steel. Strong like the god who held them in his favor. 

But, he is not. He is not strong enough to stop himself from wanting more.

Circling his arms around Katsuki’s neck, he tips his head. Without hesitation, Katsuki indulges his silent plea with another kiss. Warmth spools, fuzzing away the rest of his thoughts.

“I’ll visit you tonight,” Katsuki murmurs, cupping his cheeks. His lips brush against Shouto’s forehead and then again on Shouto’s lips. “That alright?”

Shouto’s cheeks heat up under the gentle kisses. The sweetness lingers like a hard candy slow to melt, and he struggles against the urge to ask for more. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“I’ll see you later,” Katsuki says, but he leans in again, capturing Shouto’s lips once more, as if loath to leave. Shouto’s eyelids flutter shut as he clutches Katsuki close. “Don’t get lost in that pretty head of yours, princess.”

Breathless, Shouto opens his eyes and catches Katsuki’s teasing grin before Katsuki turns away.

The coursing sea of guests parts for Katsuki — youkai and ghosts alike bow hurriedly in respect. The two shinigami immediately greet him. Without warning, Soba pounces out of a screen painting.

Before Shouto can even open his mouth, Katsuki sidesteps. Not even looking, Katsuki reaches into his sleeve and throws a dried treat in a gesture so smooth that it must not be the first time this happened. Soba catches it. Munching, she pads over to Katsuki and brushes up against his legs. Katsuki scratches between her ears and speaks with the shinigami without pausing.

Shouto’s heart skips a beat. Oh. Since when did that become a habit for those two? Soba is usually very picky about who she likes. 

He brings his fingers to his lips. The remembered kiss tingles, and the warmth buzzes somewhere deep in his chest. Later. He gives them another lingering glance before he steps away. 

RIght now, he has a hotel to run.

Staying focused is easier said than done. 

The usual chaos of the hotel keeps him busy: a flower watching party turned drinking contest turned drunken brawls wreaks havoc in the gardens; a mischievous thief steals everyone’s right shoe; and a sudden thunderstorm floods the thirteenth floor. 

(Maybe complimentary umbrellas should be provided on every floor from now on, 

Shouto stares blankly down at the twelve inches of rainfall soaking into his kimono and then back up at the heavy storm clouds darkening the ceiling for some inexplicable reason. 

Thunder rumbles. Lightning flashes. Rain pours, drenching him from head to toe. Guests slosh past him, flailing and screaming their lungs out.

 . . . Right. Raincoats would be good too. Maybe even lifeboats. He will have to discuss it with Mashirao and Tooru later.)

Even so, the hotel occupies his hands and not his mind. 

Katsuki’s divinity pools warm and honeyed inside him — it is a constant, maddening reminder of Katsuki’s presence inside him. Conversations keep hushing whenever he passes by, and heads duck into low, reverent bows as soon as the hotel’s guests spot him.

Everyone can probably sense it. Maybe Katsuki did it on purpose for that exact reason. And Shouto thinks wildly, shamelessly, that if they had gone through with the dangerous dare, if Katsuki had fucked him right then and there in the lobby, then he would carry more than Katsuki’s blessing like Katsuki promised — he would be limping through the hotel with his hole still throbbing and clenching around the shape of a god’s cock, with come trickling hot and thick down his thighs, seeping into the silk hem of his pretty, new kimono. Just one look, and anyone would know just how thoroughly a god claimed him. He would be undeniably Katsuki’s. 

His cock thickens, fully hard again. He feels too warm all over, and the feverish heat flares underneath his skin in ragged pulses, unable to be doused even with the impromptu rain shower. 

It is a long night, too long of a night. 

By the time he finishes up, and the hotel is no longer in any immediate danger of combusting in flames or flooding in heavy rainfall, he burns hotly, aching so deep inside that he can feel himself clenching needily on the memory of Katsuki’s fingers and promise. 

Tooru and Mashirao take one look at him and excuse themselves right away. 

He has never been more relieved to retire to his rooms. 

The towel slips down his hips and legs to puddle around his feet. Even that soft graze of fabric sends goosebumps tingling down his overly sensitive skin. He steps out. 

The cool night air kisses his shower-warmed skin. His nipples tighten even further, swelling pink and tingling in an unspoken need to be sucked on and played with. His cock pulses, smearing wetness across his belly with every shaky step. The throbbing ache echoes between his legs where he readied himself in the shower earlier, shoving his fingers in his empty, clenching hole instead of the cock that he was promised.

He is as dirty and messy coming into the shower as he is coming out. 

A whine crawls up his throat, and his teeth dig hard into his wobbling bottom lip to bite it back. Later. He curls his twitching fingers and fights the urge to touch himself. Soon.

Katsuki likes it when he waits, when he proves himself to be good .

Steam curls from the private onsen and wraps around him in a haze of simmering heat. He breathes in shakily and wades in. The warm waters lap at him. He tips his head back, closing his eyes, and wills himself to relax. 

“There room for one more?”

His eyes snap open. Head jerking, he turns.

Katsuki grins. The raw silk of his hair tangles over his shoulders. A thin, inner robe ties haphazardly to his waist, clinging wetly to toned muscles and leaving nothing to imagine. He shrugs it off just as carelessly. 

Shouto wets his lips. “Yes.”

Katsuki must have come straight from the shower too. His eyes follow the flicker of the lanterns’ light over damp skin and flexing muscles. Katsuki’s cock sways, full and heavy with arousal. He swallows hard. His gaze dips back up, and the corner of Katsuki’s lips tugs further up in a knowing smirk. 

Shouto flushes. The water ripples as Katsuki wades into the water. Strong arms wrap around him, pulling him close. His back presses flush against Katsuki’s chest, and he can feel Katsuki’s steady heartbeat drumming through the wet press of their skin.

He likes this too. He keeps it to himself, but he thinks of it sometimes — climbing into Katsuki’s lap and curling soft and small into Katsuki’s embrace until the world fades into the thrum of their heartbeats. He wishes he could curl deeper into Katsuki, nestle where Katsuki’s heart beats, safe and guarded under flesh and bone and the threat of steel because Katsuki is the god of victory, and he has never surrendered himself to anyone. 

Maybe Shouto wants too loudly, despite not saying a word, because Katsuki tightens his arms around him as if he hears Shouto all the same. Helpless, he closes his eyes and sinks further into the feeling of being held and wanted. The searing length of Katsuki’s cock rests teasingly on the swell of his ass. Desire stokes the heat burning him from inside and out. 

“Katsuki,” he manages out, throat aching from a hunger too wild to tame into words. He rocks his hips back. “Please.”

“You should have let me unwrap my present,” Katsuki answers, kissing Shouto’s shoulder instead. His hands roam, squeezing Shouto’s chest and stroking up his thigh. Shouto’s breath hitches. Katsuki mouths unhurriedly at the tender spot below his nape. “Next time, huh?”

“You — ah — You don’t have to give me — Ngh!”

Shouto whines. Teeth bite into his flesh. Both pain and pleasure buzzes sharp and hot. Katsuki licks over the throbbing bitemark. His fingers stroke up the jut of Shouto’s hip and belly, skirting past Shouto’s twitching cock. “I want to,” Katsuki says easily, like it costs him nothing to gift Shouto pretty things that catch his eye.

It probably doesn't. A kimono is on the trivial end of things gods can grant anyway. Maybe all of Katsuki’s lovers receive the same generosity. 

Shouto’s chest tightens. “How did the kimono remind you of me?” he asks quietly. He is not sure what kind of answer he wants to hear from Katsuki. 

“Color matches your eye,” Katsuki murmurs, kissing gently behind Shouto's ear. His arm wraps back around Shouto’s waist and squeezes. “And lotuses ain’t as delicate as they look. Any other flower would wilt from the darkness, but lotuses bloom even in muddy waters.” 

He thumbs over Shouto’s nipple. The rosy bud blushes darker, blooming obscenely. 

A breathless, choked sound leaves Shouto at the pulsing tingle. 

“A damn stubborn fighter like you,” Katsuki adds, and the approval in his voice makes Shouto flush hotly. He strokes up and over Shouto’s fluttering heartbeat. His hand curls over Shouto’s jaw and tips Shouto’s head back. “Beautiful too,” Katsuki continues quietly, eyes serious. 

Shouto’s lips part in protest, but the heat of Katsuki’s mouth covers his, and the warm toe-curling kiss steals his breath away.

Oh. So that’s why the kimono reminded Katsuki of him. That’s — 

Shouto’s heartbeat quickens, the beat of wings inside his chest. That’s how Katsuki sees him?

Suddenly, he can’t bring himself to meet Katsuki’s eyes. He feels bared in a way that has nothing to do with his nudity. “How . . . How did your meeting go?”

There is a pause. Shouto can feel the weight of Katsuki’s searching gaze. But, Katsuki does not press any further because he never takes more than Shouto can give. 

“What do you think?” Katsuki drawls. He presses closer. His cock slips wetly between Shouto’s cheeks, sliding over Shouto’s twitching rim.

Shouto’s breath stutters. He clutches shakily at Katsuki’s arm. Katsuki’s grip tightens, keeping him into place.

“You left me fucking hard all night.” Katsuki grinds lazily up. The rough drag of flesh against flesh scrapes another needy sound out of Shouto. “Can’t stop thinking of ramming my cock deep inside here.” His fingers skim straight down Shouto’s sternum to his quivering belly. He strokes below Shouto’s navel again, tracing the aching emptiness inside. His voice darkens. “Fucking you full of my cock and come. Ruining your sweet, perfect cunt in front of everyone like you were begging me to. You looked so pretty in the new kimono I picked for you, princess.” 

His fingers trail down, knuckles grazing just the underside of Shouto’s achingly hard cock. “But you’re the prettiest when you’re fucked out on my cock and coming uselessly from your own, aren’t you?”

Heat coils tight in Shouto’s belly at the obscene words. Katsuki rocks his hips. He clenches helplessly on nothing again, his slick, puckering rim kissing Katsuki’s cock. He whimpers. “K-Katsuki.”

Katsuki kisses Shouto’s throat, teeth scraping over his hammering heartbeat. “How was your night?” he asks, even though Shouto knows that he knows the answer. “You must have had a real hard time.” His fingers wrap around the base of Shouto’s cock, squeezing. Shouto whines, hips bucking forward. The wicked edge of Katsuki’s smirk grazes his shoulder, and desperation bleeds from Shouto, raw and agonizingly sharp. “Did you miss me too, sweetheart?”

“Yes,”  he gasps out, shuddering from the slow grind of their hips. He rocks back helplessly. “Katsuki — P-Please. Inside, put it inside. I'm —” His breath hiccups as Katsuki’s cock slides hot and thick betweens his cheeks again but not pressing inside. “I’m r-ready,” he confesses, face burning. “I’m w-wet — hah— and — and open for you. To — to fuck however you want.” 

Now. Please. Gods, he is so empty inside.

Katsuki grips his hips, stilling both of them. A whine pitches out of him. “You played with yourself, huh?” Katsuki growls. The swell of his cock stays slotted between Shouto’s cheeks, spreading him apart. “Did you come?”

“ No, ” Shouto chokes out, shaking his head frantically. He wants Katsuki to move, to fuck him now. He needs it. “I didn’t. Didn’t — hah — come. I waited, I promise.” He reaches shakily behind him for Katsuki’s cock, but a rough hand clamps his wrist in a steel vise. A desperate sound tears out of him. He burns all over, lit raw by his own aching need. “I was good ,” he pleads, tearing up. “P-Please. Put it in. Please? Katsuki, please?”

He turns his head and burns all the more hotter under Katsuki’s smoldering gaze. “Show me,” Katsuki says, voice dangerously low. He releases him.

His cock twitches at the command. Shouto bites his lips. Face hot with humiliation, he stands on his tip toes to raise himself out of the water. Reaching behind him, he pulls his cheeks with trembling hands and spreads himself apart. Water drips down his crease, and his stretched rim mouths at the droplets hungrily. 

Katsuki groans. “Good boy.” 

A warm tingle runs through him. Shouto flushes again, but he keeps himself spread for Katsuki to see.

Katsuki rewards him with fingers circling and rubbing. His hole sucks at Katsuki’s fingertips, desperately trying to draw Katsuki deeper inside where he needs it, where it aches. The oil from earlier oozes thickly, slicking his rim and Katsuki’s fingers even further. 

He is getting wetter, dirtier, leaking all over Katsuki’s hand like a —

“Where do you want me?” Two fingers shove in. Shouto’s eyes fly open as he jolts forward with a moan, hips bucking. The ache flares raggedly into pleasure as Katsuki’s fingers curl, stroking faster and deeper. “Where did you miss me, huh? Tell me.”

His mouth falls open in another moan. Katsuki hits that spot inside of him again and again. “Ah, ah —”  

Good. It feels so good. Pleasure sears into him at every merciless stroke. His toes curl, calves straining as he struggles to keep his position.

“H-Here,” he pants out, reaching back shakily. He slips his fingers inside along with Katsuki’s. His rim widens, struggling to take in the combined girth of their fingers, and the throb of his hole pulses sharp and hot in his belly. His breath hitches in a needy sound.  “I -I missed you here,” he moans out, grinding back on both of their fingers. “Put your cock in-inside. Fuck my hole.”

“Your hole?” Katsuki drawls, and the lazy condescension curling his words smolders inside Shouto like embers catching on fire. “ Baby — ” 

His fingers fuck back in. They press to that spot, rubbing hard. 

“Ngh!” A whine tears out of Shouto’s throat. He slips forward. His hands shoot out, grabbing onto the rocks to stop himself from slipping. 

“You’re sopping wet,” Katsuki croons, not stopping. The wet, filthy sounds echo loudly and damningly in the nightair. 

Shouto whimpers. It’s too much. No. His vision wavers wetly. His belly tightens, cock pulsing hard. He’ll come, he’ll come, he’ll come .

Katsuki lets out a low chuckle. “You’re so desperate to be fucked,” he says, voice dark with amusement. “You don’t give a damn if it’s my cock or my fingers. Why don’t you just come like this? Huh?” Teeth scrape over his nape until Shouto whines again, shuddering under the bite of Katsuki’s relentless hunger. Katsuki’s wild grin presses against his thumping pulse, and Shouto feels it again, his skin buzzing sharp with the thrill, the danger of being held at swordpoint by a god who will ruin him for anyone else. “Come with nothing but my hand. You will be full of me either way. Doesn’t that sound real nice, sweetheart?”

Another finger slides in, forcing the widening clench of his hole. Shouto whimpers. He shakes at the fullness. Katsuki’s knuckles flex, catching his quivering rim. Shouto can feel another finger pressing impossibly in, in, in. Heat pulses hard in his taut belly, his balls drawing tighter and tighter, his cock straining. 

He’ll come . Just like Katsuki said. Just like this. Fucked open on Katsuki’s fist instead of Katsuki’s cock even though he was being good — Didn’t Katsuki say he was good?  

“My cunt,” he sobs out, too far gone to care. “Please fuck my cunt.” He tugs Katsuki’s other hand, lacing their fingers together. He slides their linked hands over his waist and presses Katsuki’s palm just below his belly.  “It a-aches inside,” he pleads. Katsuki growls in his ear. His arm tightens around Shouto’s waist. “Your cock — ah, ah, ah — I want your cock. Please , Katsuki.”

Without warning, Katsuki withdraws. Shouto clenches on nothing when he was just so full a minute ago. No . Desperation seizes him tight, choking his lungs. Before he can beg again, the fat head of Katsuki’s cock pushes in, opening him back up. 

Full. Shouto chokes out a cry. So full. Katsuki is big, a lot bigger than his fingers. The stretch burns, and the sharp throb of his clenching hole spikes hard into both pleasure and pain. “ Hah —”

It hurts so good, the rough drag of Katsuki’s thick cock inside, rubbing him raw. The hot ache of being remade, reshaped for the god before him swells, brimming him full. 

“Ngh!” The burning tide in him rises, gushing from his pulsing cock and overflowing wetly down his cheeks in tears. Katsuki hilts himself, sheathing the last inch inside, and it is such a perfect fit that the sense of completion overwhelms Shouto.

This is what he is meant for. His eyes flutter shut as pleasure crests over him, the last of his thoughts sinking under the curling waves. It has to be. The emptiness in him must have always carried the shape of this god.

Katsuki groans. “Good boy. You came on my cock,” he says roughly, voice so thick with wanting that pleasure sears its molten edge back into Shouto. His cock drags back out, scraping across Shouto’s spasming walls. 

Shouto whimpers. His cock twitches, stirring again, even as his hips stutter, still caught in the ebbing throes of his orgasm.  

“Perfect, beautiful slut.” Katsuki’s hands wrap around his wrists, squeezing, and yanks him back onto that fat cock.

Shouto moans. Water splashes. The waves lap at his skin as Katsuki drives his cock in deeper, harder, building a rhythm that rocks him apart. Pleasure crests up and up, echoing the rippling waters.

“Your pretty little cunt kisses me so sweetly, baby,” Katsuki growls out, not letting up his pace. “You’re so damn warm and soft. Gripping me so fucking tight like you never want to let me go. Fuck. Hah — I could fuck you like this forever.” The smack of skin to skin rings out, echoing the lewd, wet sounds of their fucking. Broken moans hitch out of Shouto with every gasping breath. “You fucking love it too. You need my cock so damn badly. I heard every single one of your filthy fucking prayers. Drove me fucking — hah — crazy in the meeting with the extras.” 

Humiliation scores into Shouto. An embarrassed whine escapes him. Katsuki heard? 

“You miss me that much, huh? Or is it my cock that you missed?” 

Katsuki grinds hard against that sweet spot. Shouto sobs out. Pleasure bolts through him, electric and white-hot. His knees buckle. 

Katsuki catches him easily. His hands squeeze Shouto’s thighs, lifting him up, and folds him up against the rocky ledge instead. “Ka-Katsuki —”

Katsuki makes a soothing sound. “I'll give you what you want, beautiful.” He fucks back in, undeterred like Shouto is nothing but a sweet convenience, just a pretty little thing to warm his cock. “It's my bad for being your first taste of cock. No wonder you're fucking starving for it. I'll take responsibility, baby.”

Shouto's mouth falls open in a moan, tongue lolling out. “Want you,” he sobs out, mindless with pleasure, “I want you all the time. Good — Mngh! You feel so — so good inside me.”

His nipples scrape against the rough grain of the ledge in sweet torture, body hitching with every thrust. The solid, unyielding line of Katsuki’s body plasters wetly against his back. Heat bleeds through the press of their thumping heartbeats. 

Katsuki hikes his leg higher, spreading him wider. The careless show of strength makes Shouto’s cock throb.

“Maybe I should — fuck —  bring you with me to next month’s summit. I hate hearing all those fuckers chatter on and on about bullshit. But you’re good at distracting me, baby. I’ll spread you open and dripping wet on — hah— my cock. You can keep me company and sit in my lap, huh? The only thing you have to worry your pretty head about is warming my cock all night.”

The fantasy flashes through Shouto’s mind: sitting in Katsuki’s lap, soaking through both of their kimonos, his hole swollen and stretched wide around Katsuki’s cock, keeping Katsuki warm and wet while the other gods debate important issues all around them.

It’s dirty. It’s sacrilege . It’s —

The whimper wrenches from him. He tightens up, squeezing hard around the thickness of Katsuki’s cock. “Yes, yes, please,” he pleads because he wants it, wants Katsuki to stay inside him, with him like this. He refuses to succeed his family, but he won’t mind carrying the name of this god. He shoves his hips back, meeting Katsuki’s thrusts recklessly. “I’ll be — hngh — good. Be good for you. Keep every one of — ah — your blessings inside.”

“I don’t know how you get shit done when you’re begging to be fucked full and taken like a whore.” Katsuki lets out a low laugh. “Were you in heat all night, sweetheart?” Warm, sword-calloused fingers fist his cock. Shouto arches with a desperate sound. Katsuki works from root to tip in firm, rough strokes. “Did you rub your cute, useless clit whenever no one was looking?”

“N-No. No,” he hiccups out, thrashing. “P-Please. Feels good. I’m - I’m close, I’ll c-come!”

“Come all you want,” Katsuki answers lazily. His hand strokes faster, and his pace harshens. “It’s what you fucking wanted all night. I’ll grant all of your prayers, princess.” 

Shouto chokes on his breath. So good. It feels too good. Pleasure hazes all of his senses. Heat simmers thickly in his veins, melting away the last of his inhibitions. He bounces back on Katsuki’s cock. “Ah, ah, ah.”

Close. He is so, so, so close.

“Your cunt’s been soaking wet all fucking day.” Katsuki’s hand dips lower. His fingers rub Shouto’s throbbing rim, stretched taut around the fat girth of Katsuki’s cock. Shouto shudders. “You made a mess of the pretty new kimono I gave you, huh? That's why you didn’t want me to take it off you?”

“T-That’s not why — Mgh!” His toes curl, thighs straining. He will come, he will come, he will come .  “I didn’t —! You left me alone ,” he pleads, voice breaking. “I waited for your cock. I waited for — for you! Ngh!”

“I didn’t fucking leave you alone,” Katsuki bites out. His cock rams in deep, deeper than before. Shouto strangles out a scream. “Didn’t you feel me?” 

He slides out before slamming back in, stroking Shouto’s swollen prostate mercilessly. Pleasure buzzes as Katsuki’s divinity flares through him. Heat ripples through Shouto in another rising tide. 

“Can’t fucking take my eyes off you even if I wanted to,” Katsuki snarls, like the confession corners him with nowhere to go. Sharp teeth nip Shouto’s shoulder in rebuke. Shouto jerks his head back, and Katsuki’s fierce gaze burns into him. “I’m always watching you. Always. You’re mine.”

Shouto lets out a helpless sound. His fingers tangle into Katsuki’s hair, tugging him up, and their mouths crash together in a rough, messy kiss.

It’s not fair. Katsuki says everything he wants to hear so easily when they’re like this. How is he not supposed to want him? There was never a chance of him winning against the god of victory.

“R-Rub me harder,” he gasps out, breaking the kiss. “Harder inside. With your — your cock.”

“Just inside?” Katsuki’s hands stroke up his belly and squeeze his chest. His fingers rub, circling Shouto’s hardening nipples. Shouto shudders into his touch with a whine. “What about your cute little tits, huh? You like how prettier they look when I play with them.”

He does, but if Katsuki touches him now, then —

Katsuki pinches both of his nipples and tugs as he fucks back in. 

He cries out. Pleasure rips through him. Come splatters his stomach and chest. 

Katsuki curses loudly. It takes one, two more thrusts before wet heat floods him, wave after scorching wave slicking his sensitive walls, brimming him full. Divinity curls like a hot flame, licking through his raw nerves. Shouto whimpers, nearly coming again from the twin sensations.

He does not remember closing his eyes, but when he blinks blearily through his tears, Katsuki has him in his lap, stroking his hair and murmuring sweet-nothings.

“Let’s get out of the water, baby,” Katsuki coaxes. He cups Shouto’s nape, squeezing just so. 

He feels more the soothing deep drawl of Katsuki’s voice than he hears the words themselves, but it feels nice. Katsuki presses a soft kiss to his shoulder in encouragement. Shouto lets out a sound. That feels even nicer.

At Katsuki’s gentle nudge, he nods. It earns him another kiss to his cheek and a pleased “Good boy” before Katsuki fits his palms on his waist and lifts him out of the water onto the ledge like he weighs nothing.

A warm tingle races through him. He feels soft and small. Sweet. Something easily loved even. His thready pulse snags onto the sensation, tightening the unraveled knot in his belly once more. He wants to be held again.

He turns to reach out. 

Katsuki stands up. Water sluices off the broad slope of his shoulders, streaming down the corded muscles of his back. He turns, backlit in dark gold. 

Shouto wets his lips. His throat aches, parched dry from a sudden thirst. Light ripples across Katsuki’s wet skin, and Shouto dips his tongue out. He wants to lap up that sun-kissed warmth, wants to know if it will taste as honeyed as the syrupy heat thick and heavy in his own veins. 

His gaze swings down. Katsuki’s cock curves up, heavy and hard. He swallows thickly. His hole tightens around its remembered shape, aching sharply, and everywhere Katsuki touched, inside and out, pulses vividly with the sensation. The flushed, fat head of Katsuki’s cock glistens, slicked from Shouto’s wet heat.

His breath hitches. Want carves into him, splitting him apart once more. He drops to his knees, felled by his own hand. His mouth parts in prayer. “Katsuki.”

Katsuki’s gaze cuts down to him. His mouth curls, edging up in a dangerous smirk. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asks mercilessly, even though he already knows what Shouto wants.

“I . . . I made you dirty,” Shouto struggles out, tongue too thick for words. His walls spasm. He squeezes his trembling thighs, tightening the swollen gape of his hole so none of Katsuki’s blessings spill out. Please. He wants to be good. He promised. “Let me — me clean you up.”

Katsuki considers him for one, two pounding heartbeats. Something unspoken and unfamiliar clashes with his expression. “Earlier,” he starts and then stops. His jaw clenches. “I didn’t mean to make you kneel. I —”

The line of Katsuki’s mouth tightens, as if to seal the rest of his words away.

Oh. 

Shouto’s heart skips a beat. He is not sure what else Katsuki wants to say, but he knows this:

“I want to.” He tips his head up and catches Katsuki gazing down at him like Shouto is the one bestowing blessings. His chest tightens. Devotion burns warm and steady in his heart, and he sees the same reverence alight in Katsuki’s eyes. “I want you,” he chokes out past the ache brimming him full. The burn stings his eyes. 

It can only be Katsuki. There is no one else, no other god, that he would ever offer himself to.

“Come here,” Katsuki rasps out. It is both a command and permission at last. He is not known to be a benevolent god, but he grants everything Shouto wants. “I’ll return everything you’ll offer.”

Shouto crawls over on his hands and knees. He kneels at Katsuki’s feet. Katsuki breathes in sharply and watches him with all of his attention — too much attention because Katsuki burns like a star, but he gazes at Shouto like he is the one being drawn into orbit.

Shouto tingles warmly under his gaze. Heart thumping, he crosses his hands behind his back and presses his cheek against Katsuki’s thigh. He nuzzles Katsuki’s cock and kisses the flushed head in unspoken devotion. Parting his lips, he keeps his mouth open.

Katsuki hears his silent prayer and thrusts in, slow and steady, feeding him his cock, inch by inch. 

Shouto moans around the thickness choking him full. Pre-come spills on his tongue. He tastes salt and warmth. Katsuki’s familiar musk rushes through him. It is heady . The heavy swell of Katsuki’s cock weighs down his tongue, stroking his mouth with every deepening thrust. 

He feels so good. His thoughts float out of reach, his body boneless and pliant, melted under the thick, cloying haze of heat and pleasure. 

A warm palm cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and locks him into place. Shouto sinks further under the grip, under that honeyed haze. He swallows, throat pulsing wet and warm around Katsuki’s cock.

“You’re fucking beautiful, kneeling for me like this,” Katsuki croons, fucking him with the same rocking rhythm from before. He slicks his hair back, the corner of his mouth curving up. 

Pure want surges hard through Shouto. He makes a needy sound, wanting nothing more than to press his lips to the sharp edge of that grin. 

Katsuki’s hips snap up, harshening the pace like Shouto is nothing but a warm, wet hole for his cock, a pretty thing to spoil for his pleasure. 

Shouto moans. His lungs burn, and his jaw aches, but the pain burns like pleasure, and everything hurts so good. Tears spill down his cheeks. Drool trickles from the corners of his lips, wetting his chin. 

“You’re being so fucking good for me. You’re so warm and wet, baby. Feels like I’m fucking your tight cunt again. Your pretty little mouth swallows my cock as good as your other one.” Katsuki strokes over the stretched corner of Shouto’s lips, catching the drool with his thumb. “You’re a messy eater, sweetheart. You sure you’re cleaning me up? Both your holes are fucking sloppy now.” A whine slips from Shouto, and Katsuki chuckles. “You like having both of your hungry mouths fucked hard and full of cock that much, huh?”

He really does. He is wet. His cock bobs, hard and leaking again, and Katsuki’s come still rests warm and full inside him, slicking his tender walls still pulsing around Katsuki’s shape. He feels like he is still being fucked. The pulsing sensation echoes vividly, buzzing electric and hot inside where Katsuki carved himself into the depths of Shouto.

His swollen rim clenches hard. Shouto chokes on Katsuki’s cock, forgetting himself, welted by the raw throb. Come oozes thickly and hotly down his thigh. He sobs out. No. He will be empty again. He squeezes his trembling thighs and looks up beseechingly. 

Katsuki clicks his tongue, catching on. “Fuck it back inside you,” he says, giving him permission. “You’re spilling everything I gave you. It’s a fucking waste.”

Shouto obeys with another choked whimper. Shakily, he scoops up the come trailing down his thigh and presses his fingers past his throbbing rim, fucking it back inside. The wet squelch echoes damningly in the air. His face heats up.

Unable to help himself, he slides his fingers deeper, smearing the sticky wetness inside and rubbing his aching, clenching walls over and over again. Good. He moans around Katsuki’s cock. Feels good. He grinds back on his fingers.

Katsuki groans at the sight. His cock thickens in Shouto’s mouth, pulsing heavy and hot down his throat. Katsuki is close, Shouto can tell. A desperate sound of protest strangles from him. No. Not like this. He wants Katsuki to spill deep back inside the aching, slick heat between his legs. He wants to be full again.

He squirms under Katsuki’s grip. Katsuki’s jaw clenches with effort, but he eases off enough for Shouto to pull off. “What, baby?” he forces out, voice strained. “You don’t want to swallow? Should I come on your pretty face instead?”

“N-No. Inside,” Shouto rasps out, voice scraped raw. He shoves his fingers back inside, panting. “Come inside — ngh, inside me. P-Please, Katsuki? In-inside here.”

Katsuki’s gaze darkens. A slow, mean grin slants his lips. Shouto bites down on his answering whine. 

“Why, baby?” Katsuki condescends. He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be cleaning me up. Why should I fuck my cock back into that sopping mess, huh? It’s fucking filthy.” He cocks his head. His eyes glitter with cruel amusement. “Give me a damn good reason.”

This time, the whimper slips from Shouto. Humiliation tears into him as much as his searing, rabid need. He wants it, wants Katsuki’s cock, wants to be fucked. He wants it so bad. Tears prickle the corners of his eyes. 

He raises his hips up and spreads his thighs wider. Fingers still thrusting inside, he scissors his reddened rim, baring the puffy gape of his hole to Katsuki’s hungry gaze.

“Because . . . because this place is yours, kami-sama,” he begs, tearing up. Katsuki’s claim trickles thickly from him. Katsuki stills. Wildness flashes across his expression, divinity storming in the air. An answering tingle streaks down Shouto’s spine like lightning and buzzes sharp in his belly. “You claimed me. You said s-so. No one else can touch me, so — Mm?!”

Katsuki hauls him up with a snarl. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he hears Katsuki growl. The world spins, and he finds himself hefted in Katsuki’s arms, easy and quick, his feet dangling in the air. The fat head of Katsuki’s cock shoves past his clenching rim, and Katsuki slams his cock all the way in.

A strangled scream rips from Shouto. His burning orgasm shreds through him, a sizzling fuse igniting. Come shoots from his pulsing cock. He clamps down hard on Katsuki, and liquid heat floods him, slicking his throbbing walls in streaming spurts.

The white-hot heat sears all of his senses. He barely comes back to himself when Katsuki carries him, cock still buried deep inside, into the room and bends him over the nearest flat surface.

“Mngh!” 

Katsuki fucks him so hard that he comes dry twice with tears streaming down his face. Pleasure crashes over him, wave after wave, until Shouto sinks in that burning, rippling sea of hot sensation. He can’t stop coming .

It is so much. He is no match for a god’s stamina. His body is too sensitive, too human to be a vessel for a god’s desire. Katsuki fills him over and over until he can taste the fullness at the back of his throat. Katsuki’s divinity sparks hot over his skin, bolting through him.

Prayer after prayer falls fervently from his lips. He is not even sure what he babbles out. Katsuki grants him no reprieve, offers him no mercy. 

Shouto does not want it anyway. No, he wants this . He wants Katsuki to lose himself even further in his desire for him. He wants Katsuki to want him the same way he wants Katsuki.

By the time they make it to the bed, Shouto sinks into the sheets, feeling both heavy and weightless at the same time. Soft. He rubs his cheek on the silk threads and makes a small sound. He curls up in the silkiness, inside that soft cloud fluffing over all his thoughts and senses.

Warm, calloused hands stroke soothingly all over his oversensitive body. “Roll over, baby,” he hears Katsuki murmur. The fond curve of Katsuki’s mouth presses to his nape, scattering kisses down between his shoulder blades. “You’re fucking perfect. So damn gorgeous. Can’t get enough of you.”

He is not really sure what Katsuki means to do. He can’t parse the meaning from the shape of the words pressed gently to his skin. But, the deep drawl rumbles between his ribcage and the steady drum of their shared heartbeats. It feels comforting.

Those same hands drag down his sides and curl over his waist, thumbs tracing the jut of his hips. He turns into their touch and obediently turns on his belly.

“Good boy,” Katsuki croons, and warmth unfurls, a sweet, tender bloom in his chest. He hums. Katsuki’s solid weight settles over him, and Katsuki’s arm slides underneath, bracketing him in. “Tighten your thighs for me, sweetheart.”

He squeezes his legs together. Katsuki’s cock slides through the sticky mess of come and oil slicking his thighs and into that tightening plushness as warm and wet as his heat inside. The slow drag of Katsuki’s cock against his own soft cock sends tingles fizzling warmly through him. 

Shouto sighs. He is too tired to come again, but it still feels nice. Katsuki’s warmth blankets him, the curve of his body shielding him from the rest of the world. He feels small. Safe. It feels good. He tightens his thighs so Katsuki can feel good too.

“Don’t know why I ever leave when heaven’s right fucking here,” Katsuki says so reverently like Shouto is somehow the one worth being worshipped right now. He moves, thrusting steadily and gently. Dazedly, Shouto rocks with the rhythm, lulled by the rippling heat pressed against him. “You’re so sweet for me right now, baby.”

“You should stay with me forever,” he slurs out in agreement, the words feeling as thick and heavy as his tongue. He wraps his fingers around Katsuki’s hand and squeezes. Katsuki’s arm tightens, gathering him close, keeping him whole. “Keep me. You should keep me.”

“Maybe I should,” Katsuki pants out, open mouth pressed to his nape, teeth scraping over Shouto’s thudding pulse. “Maybe I’ll pull a page from those shitty stories, huh? Steal you away. And take you back with me as a bride.”

Yes, please. A desperate sound escapes him. If it means he will be spoiled like this, kept safe and made precious like this, then it is everything that he could ever want. He will be Katsuki’s to love and even more impossibly, Katsuki will be his to love.

Katsuki groans. His hips stutter, cock pulsing hotly between Shouto’s thighs. 

Oh, did he say that aloud? 

“Fuck. I can’t fucking win against you, huh?” he says helplessly. Shouto wonders what he means. It makes no sense at all for the God of Victory to admit defeat. Katsuki thrusts again. A hot mouth presses to the back of his neck, muffling a ragged moan as Katsuki’s hips jerk against him. “I’ll — hah — I’ll give it to you, damn it. I’ll give it all to you.”

Katsuki comes, spilling between his legs. Heat soaks him, and Katsuki’s desire for him sears into him once more. Shouto lets out a soft moan. It is not the stinging rawness of a wound but the burning tenderness of a love he can’t ever remember ever having before. 

Maybe it will scar him all the same. 

His eyelids flutter. Katsuki shifts, arms wrapping around him, radiating warmth and divinity. He feels so warm, warmer than the sun. 

Shouto sighs. 

The world fades, soft and golden. His eyelids slide shut, and he knows no more.

He wakes in Katsuki’s arms.

The late afternoon sun glares through the windows, burning the room in brightness.

Oh. It is late. 

Shouto lifts his head only to see Katsuki gazing back. Sunlight slants over the bridge of his nose, burnishing the fire reds of his eyes to glassy sunset oranges.

Gold stripes Katsuki’s tanned skin, streaking brightness through the untamed tangle of his locks. He lies loose-limbed and at ease, like a wild tiger sated for the moment, gentled into peace. It is a rare sight Shouto can't ever get enough of.

His heartbeat stutters, jolting him fully awake. How long has Katsuki been awake? Has he been waiting this time? 

“You didn’t wake me up,” he croaks out. He winces. His fingers rub at his throat. It hurts a little. 

Katsuki usually either waits until Shouto wakes up or wakes him up before leaving. Once, he left with just a note scrawled on the dresser. He came back, forgetting something he left behind, only to find Shouto clutching the note, rattled by the emptiness in his bed.

If Katsuki had noticed the neediness in Shouto, the loneliness that starved him even after getting his fill, then he chose not to mention it. He only scooped Shouto up, embracing him tightly, knuckles bleeding white, and pressed kisses and an even tauter apology against Shouto’s trembling skin. 

Katsuki has never let him wake up alone from their shared nights after that.

The bed shifts. Warm fingers slide under his jaw, gently tipping his head up. The smooth curve of a cup touches his lips. Shouto obediently opens his mouth to drink. Water slips down his sore throat, cool and soothing. 

He feels refreshed in other ways too. He is not as sticky as he should be. Katsuki must have cleaned them up.

“Why?” Katsuki returns lazily. His other hand strokes idle circles down Shouto’s back. “You got somewhere else to be?”

He shakes his head. There is nowhere else he would rather be. He finishes drinking and tucks himself back into the warm, protective curve of Katsuki’s body. 

Last night’s events drift slowly back through his thoughts. “That ghost yesterday,” he starts. “Was what he said true?”

Katsuki stiffens. He draws Shouto into himself, already on the defensive. “What do you mean?” He scowls. “He was talking shit.”

Shouto blinks. Oh. He could have phrased that better. “That I’m your favorite,” he corrects.

Katsuki is silent for too long of a heartbeat. “No.” 

Shouto’s heart plummets. That’s — Of course. Why did he even ask? He moves to slip from Katsuki’s hold, but Katsuki tightens his grip. He turns his head and stares hard at the wrinkles of the bed sheets instead. Something twists just as hopelessly inside him, 

Is heartache something that can be ironed out and smoothed away like the sheets, or will he always carry the imprint of this love? He does not know. Maybe that is why he fell in love with Katsuki so easily. 

“I can’t have a favorite if there’s no one else but you, idiot.”

Shouto startles. He looks wide-eyed back up.

Katsuki looks away. His fingers twitch on Shouto’s side. “Shit like that happens a lot,” he says finally. “Gods don’t just receive prayers. We get curses too. But, we can’t fucking intervene all the time. It fucks up the damn balance of the world, and shittier clusterfucks happen.”

Shouto knows. People blame gods for their ruin just as readily as they worship them for their salvation. He nods.

Katsuki locks their gazes together. “No one in their right mind would challenge a god.” The line of his mouth harshens. “Those with grudges go for the easier targets.” 

Shouto’s eyes widen with belated realization. The ghost’s words replay through his head. It’s only right if he loses someone precious to him too .

“It’s dangerous being mine,” Katsuki says, voice cutting sharp like steel again. His eyes gleam cold with the truth. “Shit like last night will happen again if I stay — if you’re with me.”

Oh. But then that means — to Katsuki, he is more than just a sweet lover to warm his bed. If that’s the reason why Katsuki won’t close the distance between them, if that’s all that stands in the way, then — 

“I want to be.” 

Katsuki’s eyes widen. Shouto swallows. “I want to be yours,” he says louder, being brave not because he is fearless but because he fears losing Katsuki more. “I can take care of myself. I'm not weak.” 

He juts his chin out, meeting Katsuki’s eyes straight on and daring him to say otherwise. Something like pride flickers Katsuki’s face despite his frown. Shouto won’t give in without a fight. He might not be able to match a god, but he can be just as strong-willed as the one before him. 

“You made me fall in love with you. So take responsibility.”

Katsuki stills. Something complicated wars in his eyes once more. His knuckles clench, the lines of his body hardening once more into the ridge of the mountain, distant and unyielding, submitting to none. 

Shouto’s heart clenches painfully. He waits with dread for the answer he does not want to hear. 

Katsuki exhales, the fight suddenly bleeding out of him. A familiar helplessness creases his brow. Shouto remembers seeing the same odd look on Katsuki’s face last night before he fell asleep.

“Guess I have no choice, huh?” The taut line of Katsuki’s mouth softens, giving in to the truth. “You win,” he says roughly, voice raw with honesty. “Think I lost the moment I first saw you.” His palm slides down Shouto’s chest, resting over Shouto’s thumping heart. He leans down and presses a kiss to the back of his own hand, as if Shouto’s heart is too precious to risk bruising. “You’re so damn easy to love, Shouto,” he says quietly.

Shouto’s breath hitches. The tenderness touches him deep inside, and he can feel the gentle press of Katsuki’s lips to the ache scarring him anew. He trembles. He blinks hard, fighting the sudden burn of tears.

“I won't ever fucking take this — you for granted again,” Katsuki promises, expression serious.

“You don’t,” Shouto answers thickly. His heart pounds underneath Katsuki’s palm. His chest squeezes tight around an old hurt. He can feel the edges of it stitching up, the hole in his heart filled so easily by Katsuki’s warmth. “You — You want me as I am.”

“ ‘Course I fucking do. You’re fucking beautiful,” Katsuki answers fiercely. “There ain't a single part of you that I don't want.” His arms wrap back around Shouto, embracing everything that makes Shouto because Katsuki means every word he says. “Tell me. What do you want? Don’t fucking hold back anymore.”

He does not know where to start, now that he knows he can be selfish, that Katsuki wants him to be. 

“The wisteria in the Eastern forest are blooming late,” he blurts out because it's the first thing — the easiest one —  that comes to mind. “They're holding the hanami next week.” He helped the guardian spirit there before, and they sent him an invitation in gratitude. “Will you come with me?”

His fingers fold over Katsuki’s, clutching him closer before he can stop himself. He knows now why Katsuki didn't let himself come more often, but he wants more. He always has. 

But . . . His lips press together. Katsuki is a god. He is busy too. Running a hotel is light work compared to the duties gods have to carry out. Maybe Katsuki won't be able to make it.

“Sure. I want to see you in another pretty kimono.”

Shouto blinks. Another? Does he mean —

“I haven't even worn the one you just gave me properly,” he protests. Wearing it around the hotel on everyday business does not count. “You can’t give me another one.”

Katsuki grins. “Says who? Huh? You won't dress up for me, princess?”

Shouto flushes hotly from head to toe. Looking pretty just for Katsuki is . . . is . . . 

He buries his heated face into Katsuki’s chest. It's not a no though, and they both know it.

Katsuki shakes with laughter. “You have a damn god for a lover, sweetheart,” he drawls, sounding amused and pleased . His fingers card through Shouto’s hair. “Ask me for shit. You can be more spoiled.” His eyes crinkle, and the corner of his lips hikes up in a playful grin. It is so unfair how handsome he looks like this. “I don't fucking mind. I ain’t stingy.”

Shouto squirms. Katsuki chuckles, dropping a kiss in his hair and on the side of his temple. He pouts. Fine then. 

“And for the rest of today?” Shouto challenges, tipping his head up. His arms loop around Katsuki’s neck. He tilts his head, a little uncertain despite himself. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Katsuki agrees. He looks unbearably fond, and everything in Shouto burns gold. Happiness dawns over him, and its brightness breaks across his face, fanning up the corners of his mouth. The warm curve of Katsuki’s lips presses against Shouto’s own growing smile. “For as long as you want me to.”